Curse of the Jellicle Moon
by PSYchOtiC-teNdencieS
Summary: [hiatus] A cruel spell awakens powerful alter egos in three unsuspecting toms. Can they break this curse before they lose themselves in their alternate personae? Features: Quaxo, Mistoffelees, Admetus, Rumpus Cat, Plato, Macavity, Tumblebrutus, Pouncival, Electra.
1. The Witch

**A/n:** Hiiiiii! :) So, after spoofing extremely dramatic/graphic/romantic/RIDICULOUS fanfiction plots in NABCF, I decided to go ahead and be a hypocrite and post this new story I've been sittin' on for a while. It's not done, and I know it's reeaaaally bad of me to post something unfinished, but I was really curious to see the reactions to this story. Be nice (well, unless you think I don't deserve it, LOL). ;P I know it's shitty, but I kinda like it. It's mah baby. ^^

WARNINGS -- gore, OCs (only fillers! no main characters or anything), arguable OOCness scariness I guess(?), goofy romance, some eventual slash (that's right :D), overall stupid corny soapoperaryness... and I think I need to stop writing right now.

Posting in the middle of the night really is never a good idea... maybe I'll do some more proofreading later and post any edits. Anyway! Without further ado, I present to you the crap fest that is "Curse of the Jellicle Moon"!

And cue prologue!

* * *

**1. The Witch**

* * *

It began one cold, starless night, when the Forest Witch sat by her window with a book of spells in her pale hands. Her reading glasses slipped from their perch between her dark eyes as she glanced at her carefully tended vegetable garden just outside. The sight was obscured by her reflection in the long window, so she returned to her leather-bound book.

One of her greatest concerns was vermin in her beloved garden. She had yet to encounter this crisis, as her presence was well known by the wilderness, as well as her unforgiving attitude towards trespassers. No creature dared enter her domain for fear of the black magic she was known to cast upon the animals. Earlier that very day, she had cursed a lost Dalmatian with insatiable hunger when he nearly bit her in the woods. The more the canine consumed, the emptier he became, and every hour drove him madder and madder with hunger. A simple act of fear and confusion had cost the animal his sanity, and made him yet another example of the Witch's dark power.

The ravenous Dalmatian wandered into the junkyard at the edge of the forest, not far from the Witch's cottage. Following the delectable scent of human leftovers, the canine passed through a hole in the surrounding fence and ripped through the piles and piles of litter. He buried his nose in the beautiful smell and greedily devoured whatever was edible, nearly choking on each gluttonous bite. But none of it could satisfy the ache in his stomach. Not one glorious morsel could he enjoy, but only felt the growing pain within him.

Another scent reached the Dalmatian's nostrils, a scent even tastier than the garbage. He smelled living food, the kind that squealed and wriggled when bit. At least one small animal was nearby, unconsciously drawing in the speckled dog with its intoxicating smell. The Dalmatian hazily followed the wonderful fragrance of flesh until he spotted the source.

A little black and white cat lay by himself on the hood of an old car, whispering to himself and waving his paws in a strange manner. He was so absorbed in some sort of private ritual that he did not detect the hungry canine until it lunged at him. The wretched dog's shrill barks echoed in the junkyard like Murder's own shrieking voice, saliva oozing like blood down his slack jaws of thick, jagged teeth. The cat screamed.

With the haste of one racing from death, the feline leapt from the car and dashed nimbly through the trash, the four-legged menace following close behind. Somehow the cat managed to stay just ahead of the Dalmatian, maneuvering nimbly around the obstacles of junk and dodging the great open mouth behind him. The dog chased his prey all about, right to the edge of the junkyard and the fence through which he came.

That night, two other tomcats were also awake, seeking solitude to face their private insecurities in the most remote section of the junkyard – by the metal fence. Though they did not realize it, they were not far apart, and both soon heard sharp yapping of their natural enemy in pursuit of one of their own. But they could only hear this spectacle moments before they saw it tear towards them, and the cats all simultaneously ran from the terror to the narrow hole in the fence that led to the woods.

The cats slipped through easily, but the dog, now more frantic and disoriented than earlier, at first became caught in the scratching, wiry metal. For a moment, the felines thought they might be safe, and glanced at one another anxiously. They were all very different in shape and hue. The first black and white tom was quite small, his fur patterned like a tuxedo, with bright brown eyes and a solid white face. Another was of moderate height, thin, and decked with splashes of pale yellows and browns. The third cat was bigger than the other two, both in height and width, and his coat was white with streaks of brown and black, and touches of red in the fur above his pale brow.

"Is it-?" the yellow and brown cat began breathlessly, staring wide-eyed at the struggling Dalmatian.

The dog broke loose.

"Go!" the tall tom shouted in reply. In need of no further persuasion, the tomcats turned and sprinted towards the forest.

It may have been the residue of her destructive magic on the cursed dog that led them to her home, or perhaps it was another unnamable, supernatural pull that brought the unfortunate beings to her doorstep. But whatever the cause, whether magic or fate, the three cats came upon the Witch's gate, and leapt over it into her vegetable garden.

The Dalmatian halted, nostrils full of the wicked scent that began all his recent pain, and ran yelping from the Witch's premises. The cats, silent and shaking with fear, remained among the plants, listening for the dog. Had they known then what lay in wait for them there, they would have gladly faced the demonic canine over the excruciating ordeal in store.

"It's gone," the big white and brown tom breathed.

"Are you sure?" the medium-sized cat whispered, straining to hear the barks in the growing distance.

It was the little black and white one who first noticed the cottage, and the dim light in the window obscured by a moving shadow. "Where are we?" he wondered in a quiet voice, stepping away from a patch of lettuce he'd trod on.

The door opened, and there, framed by the candlelight within, stood the Witch of the Forest before the violators of her beautiful garden. Her age was indeterminable, her face neither wrinkled nor smooth. She wore a plain, loose white robe that reached down to her ankles, with a high collar and long sleeves. Black, perfectly straight and untangled hair fell to her shoulders, and two very large, dark eyes stared unwaveringly from her pale face.

All three cats froze at the sight. They had heard of a strange human living in the woods who tortured the animals. Yet they could not at first move away from her, or break from her still gaze.

The Witch sniffed, stiffly breathing her fury in, then out again. She slowly lifted her arm and pointed to the three creatures in her garden. "For this," she whispered sharply, in a human language the cats couldn't understand, "the demons in your souls will seize your bodies." The Witch spoke slowly and deliberately as she determined their punishment. "In the night, under the crescent moon, fear will be free to roam in your shell, and make its own shape from it. In the day, it will haunt your mind, begging to be free again, waiting for you to give in."

No bright light or grand physical show of magic accompanied the spell. There was only a strange energy, seemingly pulling and compressing the air around them, that brought unease to the cats' minds, and told them on an inner, instinctual level, that evil was creeping its way into them, crawling under their skin and pumping within their terrified hearts.

When the Witch's arm dropped suddenly to her side, the toms were released from her metaphysical hold, and each fled suddenly in unbelievable fright, over the gate, past the trees, through the gap in the fence, back to the junkyard, their home. But home brought no sense of security or comfort to the overwhelmed cats, and only exhaustion could force sleep from them. They had neither the strength nor the words to talk about the strange woman who had hissed at them so, or the hideous feelings that unintelligible speech brought them. So they parted, dazed, and eventually slept. In the morning, they each awoke with only the wonder at what a strange and horrible dream they had, and all memory of that cold dreaded night, they simply attributed to a senseless nightmare.

In truth, the nightmare had only begun.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

**A/n**: Just a short prologue to get started. :) Btws, how was the witch lady? Tried not to make her toooo annoying as an OC. Also didn't want her to be super conventional, but still kinda wanted to call back to some old traditions of the witch in fairytales. For example, ALL witches have vegetable gardens. And live in the woods in some cottage. Lol.

So REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! They will make me ever so happy. I could do with some of that, now that I'm outta the clinic. Can you believe I almost got committed a SECOND time? ...Actually after reading this, you probably can, haha. Anyway. Writing gore and getting REVIEWS for it is part of my therapy. ;P


	2. Shadows Emerge

**A/n:** Yooo, so if you had no idea what happened in that prologue, hopefully you will now. :P This is a work in progress remember, so it'll come out a little slowly (but surely I hope). I do know where I WANT to go with it... just gotta, you know, GET THERE...

WARNINGS same as chapt. 1 I guess. Lol.

* * *

**2. Shadows Emerge**

* * *

Quaxo uncurled atop the old car hood by the junkyard clearing. Voices had wrenched his mind from the most peculiar dreams and returned him to the conscious world. With a low sigh, he blinked blearily at his surroundings, slowly taking in two figures on the ground below.

"Check it out, he lives," a dry voice said.

"Come on, Quaxo, get up! We've been waiting on your lazy bum all morning," another called out cheerfully.

Quaxo grinned down at his two impatient friends below. A young patched tom and a short tortoise-shell queen stared expectantly back at him. The black and white tuxedo-cat leapt down from the faded red hood to join the smirking felines.

"You sleep like a rock," the queen, Electra, teased, batting Quaxo's ear in a playful chiding manner. He pushed her paw away with a self-conscious smile.

"Did you know," the patched tom began, "they used to think that when you couldn't wake up, an invisible old witch was sitting on your chest to keep you from moving?"

Quaxo frowned. "I didn't know... that's really weird, Tumble," he sniggered. The young queen giggled in agreement.

The other tom, Tumblebrutus, grinned. "I know – and now _you_ know about something... so _pertinent_, I mean, it's _so_ relevant, I'm actually doing a huge favor enlightening you," the tom said in a somewhat wry, understated tone.

"Well thank you," Quaxo returned, unable to quite match his friend's sarcasm, "thanks for that, Tumble. I don't know what I would have done without that knowledge."

Tumblebrutus shrugged. "Hey, I'm here for you, man," he avowed. The tom's gentle sarcasm and nonchalance offset his rather nerdy tendency to blurt out the most random details.

"If you're done flirting," Electra said pointedly, "you want to show us the trick you promised to do?"

Quaxo beamed at the mention of his magic tricks. He took great pride in his mystical abilities, however slight and few they were. This particular trick he'd been practicing much of the night before. Under any other circumstance, he may have playfully demanded a kinder request from his friend before showing her anything, but when it came to his magic, he often forgot to be clever and funny. Pretenses —the very few that he had— dropped, and his genuine eagerness and love of fun surfaced in his pale face.

"Okay," he said brightly to his friends, "watch that can." The cats all turned towards a small, upside-down garbage can a little ways from them.

"Yea, it's fascinating," Tumblebrutus replied.

"Shut up," the queen reproached.

Quaxo stared intensely at the old can. After moment, it jerked. "Whoa," said the now fully attentive Tumblebrutus, leaning back a little. Electra leaned forward, eyes widening with anticipation. The can began to rattle, knocking around stray pieces of junk. Quaxo looked a little uncomfortable, his brow furrowing and jaw tensing as he placed all his energy into this one trick. He raised a paw and the can slowly lifted and turned itself right side up, then bobbed somewhat precariously through the air towards the three young cats. The magician pulled back his paw, and the can plopped down before them, steadying itself after a moment of wobbling.

After a beat of stunned silence, Electra laughed and grabbed an energy-drained Quaxo. "You did it!" she cheered, practically pulling the tom into a headlock in her enthusiasm. "You furry little genius, you did it!"

When Quaxo broke free of Electra, he found Tumblebrutus grinning as well. "That was really cool," he complimented, genuinely impressed. Quaxo smiled widely at his friends, despite his weariness. This was a big step for him, the first time he'd successfully conjured an object to him. He was learning more and more each day, capable of greater and greater achievements. It couldn't be long now before he became the most talented magician around.

But sometimes this thought alarmed him. What would it mean to be so powerful, when no one could check him, beat him, come even close to his supernatural skill? What would he become with power and age – what kind of responsibilities must he assume? He wasn't ready to grow up. Not yet. So he would learn, but slowly, and take his time on the journey from a kitten to a tom.

* * *

Admetus wandered under the midday sun, holding out his paw to the great encompassing junkyard fence. The yellowy brown tomcat's long fingers brushed against the thin metal diamonds in the net-like pattern. His touch agitated the fence into light trembles that clinked faintly in his sensitive ears. The tom walked slowly along the tall silvery poles upholding the web of metal, listening to the fence ring and the litter beneath his feet crunch.

Another sound reached his ears, the sound of guffawing voices and rambunctious footsteps. He stopped, turning anxiously towards the noise, snatching suddenly at the fence with his extended paw. His claws extracted and scraped metal.

The noise passed. Admetus breathed.

Had the clamoring cats come near enough, they may have seen him. And then they would expect him to talk, to take place in their social circle – if only for a moment. Then again, perhaps they would have ignored him after all, sparing him from the unwanted interaction. It wasn't inconceivable.

The tom loosened his grip on the metal chinks. He stared through them a moment into the green beyond, and then continued his walk. Inside he felt the same sense of relief without content that filled him each lonely day.

* * *

Plato fell forward with laughter. His friends all sniggered and snorted at something hilarious Alonzo had said, something they must remember later and always quote as an inside joke.

The evening skies dimmed as the sun drifted further and further west, many feline eyes aglow in the growing darkness. They were gathered in a loose circle, sitting back and lying about in a variety of positions, casually chatting and giggling among themselves. These cats were the "popular" ones, the fun ones whom others both envied and loved. While none were especially thick or completely talentless, their main appeal was merely charisma and outward appearances. They were not a malicious bunch, in fact generally they were quite the opposite, but sensitivity and emotional tact was never their strength.

Among the circle with Plato were Alonzo, the suave black and white tom, the sleek chocolate-colored Cassandra, the cheeky and inseparable orange-stripped burglars Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, young Etcetera, who almost never took her calico eyes off the black and gold playboy Rum Tum Tugger, the sassy red queen, Bombalurina, and Plato's pure white ex, the posh Victoria. Each fit so nicely with his or her label – which isn't to say that they weren't just as complicated and layered as anyone else. It was only the outermost layer by which they were judged, and even they had come to identify with their peers' narrow perception of them.

The role Plato played among them was simple, even a little dull. He was sometimes quiet, obviously because he was more brawn than wit, and often playful, clearly due to his immaturity. His occasionally short temper made him a punk, friendliness towards females was merely horniness, any cynicism was self-righteousness, and signs of independence were just self-centeredness. But in the simplest terms, he was considered the easygoing, not too bright, straightforward one with the maturity level of a jock.

As the sun set more completely, the friends began to disperse, still laughing and chitchatting loudly. Plato eventually parted from the lively group, calling something back to them that made them laugh all the harder. He smiled as he left, but after a safe distance from the other cats, his pace slowed, and the smile faltered – if only slightly.

Some may hide their innermost feelings and fears by avoiding people. Others mask insecurities with social labels and constant but unfulfilling human (or, in this case, feline) interactions.

But the steady swell of Plato's many and unsettling thoughts was interrupted suddenly by a colossal crash to his right, followed after a beat by a drawn-out "Owww." The tom jerked towards the noise in surprise, venturing cautiously nearer to the source. A small patched and striped cat was sprawled out on his back before a huge junk pile, rubbing his head in a somewhat dazed manner. His eyes slowly turned to the bemused tom not far from him. "Um... hi," he said with a sheepish grin.

"Hi," Plato replied uncertainly, half-frowning with concern and half smirking with amusement at the cat's clumsiness. "...Are you okay?"

"I'm good," the other tom assured him, moving to pull himself up. Plato lent him his paw, which he gratefully accepted. "Meant to do that," he explained brightly.

"I see," Plato chuckled. He glanced around them at all the junk. "What were you doing?" he asked.

"Climbing," the tom answered casually, leaning a paw against one of the shorter piles. It immediately collapsed under the pressure, and the tom tumbled forward slightly, almost losing his balance. Once his balance returned he immediately straightened, as though the faux pas had never occurred, though his expression revealed otherwise.

Plato snorted at the failed attempt to be suave, and finally recognized the little cat as Tumblebrutus' crazy younger brother, Pouncival. "I do that all the time," he reassured the klutzy kitten to make up for laughing.

Pouncival grinned, the glow of his honey-brown eyes focusing on Plato's sharper yellow eyes in the dark. "Plato, right?" he asked, to which the other tom nodded. "Thought so. Didn't you and my brother used to hang out... like, a lot?"

"Oh yeah," Plato replied with a nostalgic smile. "For a while."

"Yeah," the young tom echoed, glancing away as the memory resurfaced for both of them of a small kitten following around two slightly bigger kittens, with the awe and trust the young always have for older peers. "You guys picked on me _all_ the time," he recalled with raised brow. "Especially you."

"_Yeeeaah,_" Plato admitted guiltily. "Um... sorry about that."

Pouncival shrugged. "Hey, it was forever ago. Besides," his grin turned wicked suddenly, "I got you two back for it."

Plato immediately felt his guilt dwindle. "That's right," he said, taking his turn to raise a brow. "I remember _that_."

After a moment of recalling the stupid pranks they pulled on each other as small kittens, the young tom bade an abrupt and somewhat awkward goodbye, quickly re-surmounting the mountain of trash from which he fell. Plato returned to the shadowy fields of litter, heading for the southern part of the junkyard that neared the city with sinking spirits now that he was again alone.

* * *

Lonely howls filled the night air in the forest. Dogs of all shapes and sizes prowled the unfamiliar place, some whining in diseased pain, some growling at the others in frustration, all lost, all hungry. They came from the Dog Pound not far from the woods, which a group of intoxicated teenagers vandalized one night, unlocking the cage of each angry, old, or sick stray. The cursed Dalmatian had wandered farther than his companions, but some were now following his old trail, approaching the tall fence he had traversed.

Five canines this time, more alert and consequently more dangerous than the Dalmatian, entered the junkyard of unsuspecting cats.

On the horizon, the moon rose slowly into the sky. The silver crescent grinned madly down at the junkyard.

A Great Dane easily cornered Quaxo, whom he discovered meandering on his own in the night. The terrified tom backed into a mound of garbage, breathing fast, eyes huge with fear. Though there was something surreal about the situation. It seemed he had dreamed something like this before – only the dog had been a demon, and he had escaped death. Unlike now.

The moonlight brightened as the glowing sliver rose further yet, its Cheshire cat grin almost widening.

Quaxo felt a strange, electric sensation under his skin. The fear of death must be the cause, he thought.

Then he began to glow white.

* * *

Admetus woke suddenly.

The tom felt jittery and odd. He stood and stared up at the crescent in the sky with wide, confused eyes. The moonlight was blinding. He winced suddenly and reached for his head as it whirred in jumbles of thoughts and emotions.

Sinking to his knees, he twitched and jolted slowly, mouth open with silent shock in the place of what might have been screams.

He opened his eyes. They were bright red.

A low noise escaped him, gradually rising in pitch and volume.

It was laughter.

* * *

Plato's screams reached all the way to the edge of the city.

It wasn't just strange, or unexpected, or frightening. It was hideous. _He_ was hideous. It was as though everything inside was ripping through to the outside, and the outside of him wrenching inward.

His fangs grew. His coat both darkened and thickened. Claws became long and crooked, and voice became shrill and alien.

He became a monster.

* * *

The dog was taken aback a moment by the bright light. When the light faded, he found to his relief that the black and white meal was still there, backed up against the trash.

But no – the coat pattern was not the same. This cat was almost completely black, with only a white face and bib. The fur was sleek, almost glistening in comparison to the other's plain state. The other cat had been a late adolescent, but this cat appeared firmer, more like an adult.

The other cat was afraid.

This cat was not.

He stared calmly at the Great Dane with sharp blue eyes, tilting his head with mild intrigue. The dog growled and moved in on his prey. But before he could reach the tomcat, he was thrown back suddenly by an invisible force. The cat's expression had barely changed. He glanced subtly at a big can to his left. The can rose and darted steadily through the air at the Great Dane, hitting it squarely in the head.

"Bad dog," the cat said quietly, with a small smirk and a piercing look very unlike Quaxo's unassuming complexion. "Heel!"

The canine ran whimpering from the black and white tom, dashing back through the gap in the fence and returning to the forest.

* * *

Etcetera was the last to pull herself away from the gathering of cats in the junkyard clearing. The Rum Tum Tugger had lingered and so naturally, so had she. But he finally left, and with a lovesick sigh, she in turn made her own way back to her little den. Part way there, she heard heavy footsteps behind her, and low, ragged breathing. Not accustomed to assuming the worst, she quickly turned round, expecting only a tired but friendly feline face.

She was met with nothing of the sort. Three gigantic hounds trailed behind the young calico. Too surprised to utter more than a broken squeak, Etcetera fled from the hungry hunters in terror.

The little queen ran faster than she had ever run in her life. She puffed for breath and already ached, but stopping meant death, so she plodded on. The big black dog in the lead snapped at her tail. Etcetera leapt to the side and dodged the giant teeth, but tripped and fell roughly to the ground.

Now the hounds closed in, and there was no escape. She looked up at the three brutish animals, and with the energy left in her let out an impressively shrill scream in the face of her demise. This bought her a few moments as the canines jerked back a little for the sake of their poor ears.

But then their keen canine ears picked up another sound that jolted them to confusion. It started low and distant, difficult to pinpoint or discern, but abruptly broke into near, clear, piercing giggles. The dogs looked about uncertainly, unable to detect the source of this bizarre noise that sometimes hitched into deafening cackles and then fell back suddenly to the mad giggling.

And then it appeared. They did not see it walk up to them, but turned and it was there. The strangest-looking feline stood before them, staring with huge crimson-filled eyes. A faint black rim outlined his irises, but all inside and around the dark circles was red. The feline's coat was silver and striped, fur bristly like wires. His face was pale, and his long black head-fur bedraggled.

The cat grinned, revealing thin white fangs at the edge of his lips. He held the dogs their for a moment with his insane expression, unsettling the hardy animals enough to momentarily forget their bearings. Etcetera too gazed in both awe and fear at the tomcat, wondering what the real danger was now.

With the raise of a brow, it began to speak. "Good doggies play nice-like," he said with an eccentric, almost juvenile lilt. The cat shook his head slowly. "Somebody hasn't been good," he added with another maniacal giggle.

The canines seemed to remember at last their natural advantage over felines, and each bore great teeth at the strange animal and growled, stepping towards it threateningly. But the cat still appeared delighted, crazy eyes narrowing with excitement. "Come on," he dared through a growl of his own, his black, long-clawed fingers twitching with anticipation.

They all rushed at him at once, but the tomcat hurled out of the way and deftly climbed up the biggest dog's foreleg and latched onto her back. She yelped and shook her big head left and right, trying to knock the tom off. The cat only laughed, his grip on the brown fur firm. The canine ran in confused circles, bumping roughly into the other dogs who tried to get at the parasitic creature on her back without biting her.

When the black dog came close enough, the swift feline leapt onto its snout, keeping the jaws closed with his limbs. The black dog whimpered, trying vainly to back away from those glowing eyes. He backed into the brown female, who lurched away fearfully from the silver creature on her companion's face.

The last dog actually managed to knock the cat off the other canine with a white paw, and the cat flew back into the trash mounds. He quickly rose, smile gone, and stared, completely still, at the small white dog. The canine charged at the menace of a cat, and the feline fully extracted his long claws. He dodged the snapping canine, and slashed at the snout, digging four deep red lines into it.

With a horrible whine, the white canine stumbled back, and joined the other whimpering dogs as they trudged out of the junkyard where the demonic cat roamed.

The cat grinned. He glanced down at the bloody claws on his right paw with mild interest, casually retracting them. Etcetera, who had backed away from the scene and watched from behind piles of litter, shifted. The tomcat's ears twitched, and the glowing red eyes turned to the little green ones inside her hiding place.

Realizing she was discovered, the small queen abandoned the trash and tried to run from the mysterious feline. She didn't get far before she nearly bumped right into him, suddenly in front of her. Etcetera jumped back with a surprised shriek, staring up with alarm at those crazy eyes. The tom only laughed, a little quieter than before.

"Hey, beautiful," he began in that same bizarre, almost singsong inflection, but with a suggestive tone this time, "where you going?"

Etcetera backed away, clumsy with fright and fatigue. The tom followed.

"Whatcha scared of?" he asked, coming closer to the young queen. "Fixed your dog problem, didn't I? And I'm not gonna hurt ya." The tom moved very close to the nervous Etcetera. "Unless you want me to," he added mischievously in her ear.

Uncomforted by this suggestion, the queen stumbled away from the giggling cat. "Who _are_ you?" she asked the strange tom in a high, shaky voice.

The tom looked shocked. "I?" he said slowly, "I'm the Great Rumpus Cat!" he declared, ruining the majestic effect with another mad giggle.

Etcetera blinked, expression confused and tired. "The great _what_?"

"Or RC," the Rumpus Cat amended, less dramatically, "if you like."

The queen stared. "Okay..." She sighed, supposing he meant her no harm. "I'm Etcetera, and thanks. For, you know, saving me," she said awkwardly.

The Rumpus Cat grinned. "Pollicles don't scare me."

"Yea, I kinda noticed..."

"I'd take on whole packs," he said, leaning in close again, "for cute kittens like you."

Etcetera backed away again, less alarmed by his come-ons but still wary of them. All the same, his closeness sent her blood into surprisingly pleasurable pulses. Embarrassed by her inadvertent physical reaction, she turned her hot face away. "Um, I should... go," she said, which was true actually. Her den mates would be worried. "Like, _now_."

"Then I'll see you around, huh kitten?" the tom asked, with a wink.

"Sure..." she said uncertainly.

With a final grin, the silver, red-eyed creature turned and was almost instantly gone. Etcetera stared at where he last stood. Then the calico half-smiled as she headed back home. She certainly had one interesting story for her friends!

* * *

The Golden Retriever followed the unusual scent until he caught sight of long, dark ginger fur. He crept slowly closer to the red creature. It stood still, hunched over, straggly coat gently rustling with each long, heavy breath. The dog stared in wonder at the thing, feline in shape, but somehow deformed and strange.

It twisted its head towards the Retriever, who instantly backed away from the freakish face, like a red and black painted-skull. The monstrous thing curled back its lips, barring long jagged fangs, and shrieked like a panther at the dog before lunging forward, faster than the canine could react, stabbing the animal's eyes with thick claws.

* * *

When the moon set, and the sun began its climb into the sky, Quaxo woke in no unusual place, with no fatigue or sense of lost time or memories. The only thing that struck him was how bizarre his dreams of late had become. He did not perceive the sudden division of his being into two separate personas, and obliviously set to practice his amateur magic as the undetected presence lurked far beneath his subconscious.

Admetus too awoke to a familiar setting, and though his vague notion of what passed in the night perturbed him, he eventually came to the same conclusion that he had dreamed again. In this dream, he had become everything he was not, and that made it a nightmare. He even thought he could still hear an echo in his mind of that strange, shrill laughter, taunting him even while awake.

The third tom under the curse woke to the smell of blood. He discovered it on his paws, and splattered against his torso and mouth. Plato rose slowly, his bleary mind taking in the caked, red substance. He turned toward the hum of flies to his left, where the insects hovered busily over an animal carcass. The body lay on its side, its mouth open and lopsided, golden fur spoiled with dirt and blood. Empty sockets leaked red down its face, the missing eyes lying not far from it.

The cat stumbled, unblinking eyes fixed on the corpse. With a sharp inhale, he abruptly tore his gaze, and trembled with the urge to both vomit and scream, or fall and cry. But like always, he just stood there, breathing, and held it in.

For this was not the first time he'd seen empty sockets, or smelt so much blood on him, or felt this kind of fear. But so long as he could hold it within him, no one else had to know this.

So the first transformations passed, not one of the three cursed creatures able to realize or accept what was happening, all three pushing it away and falling into denial. But word of a new presence spread quickly among the junkyard felines, and they at least became aware of something strange happening in their little community.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

**A/n**: Sooooo. Yea, they're all pretty much screwed.

I don't think I've ever written in this genre before. Always wanted to write something explaining the connection between the characters often played by the same actors, but it wasn't originally going to be this... upsetting. D:

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	3. Pieces of a Puzzle

**A/n:** Errrr, sorry, that was kinda a long wait wasn't it? I'll try not to do THAT again...

Now, this is crappy and stupid but it will have to do. At least it's done! Only like... a billion more like this to go. -_-

* * *

**3. Pieces of a Puzzle**

* * *

There were times when Munkustrap really hated his job – this was one of them.

He stared in silence at the dead animal, puzzling over what could have killed it. Munkustrap was the eldest known son of Old Deuteronomy, the respected Jellicle leader who lived with humans some ways away from the junkyard. In his old age, Deuteronomy could not make many trips from his home to the trash heaps, so many of his responsibilities as leader fell to his son, and Munkustrap soon became the unofficial protector of the junkyard cats.

Munkustrap was a big silver and black tabby, very intimidating in appearance. But those who actually knew the protector weren't in the least threatened by him, for he was really a very kind and good-natured tom – though at times the kittens tested his temper. He stood now by the decaying carcass, just managing to bear the stench, as Alonzo at his side grimaced.

"God..." the black and white tom muttered in disgust. "What do you think did it?"

The tabby shook his head. "I'm not sure," he admitted quietly. He had considered sadistic humans or wild beasts, but why would they come to a junkyard? And if they had, where were they now? Why come one night only and then leave? It didn't make sense. "Whatever it is," he said, turning gravely to his patched friend, "the junkyard isn't safe until we find it."

Alonzo returned the grim expression and sighed through his nose. "So what do we do?"

"First thing's first," Munkustrap quoted almost briskly despite the gruesome sight before them. "We have to get the corpse out of here. Don't want any of the kittens seeing it, do we?" With that he moved towards the golden retriever. "The road isn't far. If we can get it there, the humans should take care of it."

The other tom seemed loath to approach the carcass, but slowly stepped forward, with a pained expression, to help his superior and friend move the body. He tried to ignore his queasiness and focus on the practical need to clean the mess. Alonzo had never liked dogs –few felines do– but whatever it was this canine had encountered was one seriously sick creature.

* * *

"And then he was gone," Etcetera finished, grinning giddily as she held an old and ripped stuffed animal to herself. Her den mates gaped at her story.

"_Three_ pollicles," the youngest, Jemima, gasped, her large brown eyes fixed in amazement on the young calico. "He fought _three_?"

"Cettie, that's um... kind of a lot to believe," Electra admitted to her friend with a dubious look. But Etcetera nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh I _know_," she agreed. "I totally know, but I _swear_ it's true!"

"I don't suppose," Victoria, the slightly older, white queen, interjected, "you could have dreamt any of this?"

"Not a chance," Etcetera insisted. Electra and Victoria still looked unconvinced. Jemima, however, seemed fascinated.

"Did he really save you?" she asked with child-like awe. "Like a hero or something?"

"Well, not like the kind you hear about," Etcetera qualified, recalling the insane laughter and wild red eyes. "But yea, I guess he was, kinda."

"Darling, so-called _heroes_," Victoria began, and Electra rolled her eyes at the queen's condescending inflection, "are only to be found in fairytales and the like. I really cannot imagine–"

"Well of course _you_ can't," Etcetera snapped, exasperated that her friends didn't believe her. "'Cause _A_: you weren't there, _B_... um, _B_..." Etcetera quickly lost her angry tone as she searched for a retort, "_B_... it's always good to think of a comeback _before_hand..."

The social intensity that Etcetera had built when she snapped at Victoria deflated almost immediately as she and the others giggled at her terrible wit. "Comeback fail," Electra teased. "It's 'cause you're blond!" By this, she was of course referring to the tiny yellow tuft of fur on Etcetera's head that had become the center of many inside jokes among the young queens.

Etcetera promptly tossed her stuffed animal at Electra, which hit her right in the face. The tortoise-shell scooped up the toy and quickly redirected it at its owner, who tried and failed to duck behind Jemima. The youngest queen laughed and pushed Etcetera away, trying to back out of the battle between the calico and her friend.

Victoria too tried to exempt herself from the struggle. Lifting her paws peacefully, she mentioned with a small smile, "You _do_ realize you're behaving like four-year-olds?"

Electra grabbed her pillow to fend off Etcetera's next attack. "No, you know what we're doing – we're only enacting every guy's fantasy!" Electra corrected. At that, the calico struck a "sexy" pose and waved her stuffed animal around pathetically. Jemima doubled over at the parody. Electra followed suit and started to swat her pillow at the other queen in an equally feeble manner, to which Etcetera responded with exaggerated giggles and squeals. "This is so _sexy_ for _some_ reason," Electra whimpered, hardly able to keep a straight face. The pillow fight was so pathetic they often missed each other, and when they did they giggled and batted their eyelashes to a ridiculous degree. Electra scooted closer to her friend and stumbled in the process, breaking both queens' concentration and causing an explosion of laughter.

"Now _that_ was sexy," Etcetera exclaimed, pointing at her straightening friend.

"Yes, yes it was," Electra agreed with a grin. Even Victoria was laughing at their fun now. The tortoise shell shook her head. "Why do guys like that?" she sighed through a shrinking smile. On the one hand, she was absolutely disgusted with the notion that dumb and giggly was the model of female sex appeal. On the other, the young queen sometimes wished she _were_ just a little stupider, or a little more ditzy. Maybe she wouldn't intimidate the opposite sex so much, and maybe she'd actually get someone's attention for once.

On the _other_ hand, most guys were total dolts anyway. So with a shrug, she followed her friends out of their little den (an old cupboard) and went to hunt some breakfast with them.

* * *

_They arrange the small metal cages in stacks, like fish crates on docks. But there is no sea or sky in this little white room. It smells of putrid human medicine. They wear pale blue gloves and long white outfits, and fiddle with their instruments while the animals lie behind silver bars, all fight and resistance long forgotten in this place. It no longer even surprises most to see those blue hands reaching for them._

_Only that one kitten in the leftmost pen still slams at the bars and hisses fearfully at the giants in white. He backs frantically away when the humans approach his cage, and lashes with his small claws when they reach inside. The kitten has not been chosen as a primary subject yet. He is not yet robbed of his will to live._

_Not yet._

"Yo, Quaxo! Oh come on, you're _always_ sleeping, man."

The young tuxedo cat cracked open an irritated eye at his insistent friend. "That wasn't sleeping," he objected drowsily, pulling his weight off the cardboard box he had been leaning against. "That was dozing," he corrected, as though the difference were profound.

Tumblebrutus rolled his dark brown eyes at the other tom. "Oh, well if _that's_ it," he began mockingly, and then switched his tone suddenly as a realization seemed to occur to him. "This must be due to your wild nightlife."

Quaxo laughed at the ridiculous notion. "Right," he agreed mirthfully, playing along.

"I knew it," the patched tom accused, completely straight-faced. "You dirty punk, you've got everyone fooled with that innocent little tom act. But," he paused and leaned toward the other tom dramatically, "not _me_. I saw straight through it!"

The magical cat was chuckling too hard to respond wittily, and settled for a shrug as his retort.

"Hey guys," a voice chirped cheerily behind Tumblebrutus. Etcetera approached, followed by little Jemima. "What're you doing?"

"I've exposed him," Tumblebrutus declared, whipping around to face the females without missing a beat, "as the devious scum he really is!"

The calico queen blinked at him. "Oh... well, good job..."

Quaxo hid his head in embarrassment for his shameless friend, still shaking with light laughter. "_Tumble_," he protested half-heartedly. Pulling himself together, he forced himself to address the queens as cordially as he could manage. "And how are you this morning?" he asked extra brightly in apology for Tumblebrutus' nonsense.

Jemima smiled shyly, and Etcetera explained that they were well. "Your girlfriend's somewhere around here," she informed the toms, attributing joint-possession of Electra to them. "We just ate. She should be catching up in a sec."

"Oh," Quaxo uttered meekly, ears drooping a bit with deeper embarrassment at Etcetera's insinuation than Tumblebrutus' antics. The other tom however didn't react at all to the queen's cheekiness. He was focused on the younger and shyer of the two females. "You know," he said in his cocky, informative tone, "I'm kind of a rogue myself."

The younger queen laughed awkwardly, tickled by his "sincere" stare. "Oh really?" she giggled, not believing a word of it.

"Definitely," Tumblebrutus assured her, finally breaking out into a grin.

"Etecetera you _ho_, why didn't you wait for me-" Electra halted mid-accusation when she emerged and saw the toms. "Oh, hi," she laughed apologetically. "You're up already?"

"Well_ I'm_ not the one always sleeping 'til the afternoon," the patched tom pointed out. "But I discovered his secret!"

"He's selling himself on the street?" she gasped, casting Quaxo a disapproving look. The cat in question started and burst out laughing, despite his embarrassment. Tumblebrutus' eyes widened with inspiration.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "That's _exactly _it!"

Electra dropped the act quickly and laughed with the others, and even Tumblebrutus could hardly keep up his accusatory stares at Quaxo without grinning.

Etcetera shook her head at the crowd. "You guys are nuts," she decided, though they made her smile. "I'm out. Later El." Jemima waved at Electra before following the calico queen treading away from the toms.

"So," Electra said when the laughter subsided. "Slept in _again_?" Quaxo nodded apologetically, though he wasn't sure when sleeping in had become such an offense. "Geez. Good dream?"

Quaxo's face fell suddenly as he thought of cages stacked like fish crates. "I... I don't know," he mumbled. "It was weird."

Electra frowned. "Nightmare?" she asked gently. But Quaxo shook his head.

"Guys," he said quietly, turning to both his friends. "Do you think magical cats have visions?"

* * *

Jellylorum leaned in closer to hear the news. "Its _eyes_ were missing?" the elder repeated in awe. The gumbie cat across from her nodded gravely. "Good heavens!"

"No one knows what killed it," the gumbie Jennyanydots continued. "Munkustrap is so _very_ worried. Really, a _despicable_ thing to do – even to a pollicle!"

"Quite," Jelly agreed. Gossip spread impressively fast among the Jellicles. While Munkustrap did not wish to cause panic, he felt the others had the right to know of the new danger. "I suppose we must be very careful at night, now."

"Oh yes," Jenny nodded. "We must look after ourselves and our own most diligently." The plump old feline humphed. "Well, I've another engagement to attend, but it has been a lovely chat, dear."

Jelly lifted a brow at the choice of words. "Yes, lovely," she echoed, though the image of a dog carcass and the horror of a killer among them seemed hardly the makings of a "lovely" conversation.

As the gumbie cat trotted away, the other feline pondered the news, lightly tapping a finger on her white, calico chin. "Asparagus!" she called out, tilting her head to the old washing machine behind her. "Dear, I have some dreadful news." As she turned to face the den she shared with her mate, she jolted to find another cat directly behind her. "Goodness gracious," she spluttered, tousled as a wet peacock. She then took a good look at the tawny shape before her. "Oh _Admetus_, you're so quiet, child, I didn't realize you were there!"

Admetus shrugged a shoulder and turned his gaze away from his mother. "Sorry."

"Really, I don't know where you got all this shyness. Your grandfather was a _performer_, for heaven's sakes!" The calico huffed a bit, still a bit shaken by the surprise of her son's appearance. "Well I suppose there's no harm in it. Only I _do_ wish-"

"Jelly, what the blazes is going on?" Asparagus poked his head out from the ditched appliance. "What's all this?"

"I have news!" Jelly remembered. "And you both _must_ listen," she added, mainly for Admetus' sake. He was so unresponsive sometimes, she could never quite tell when he was listening and when he was wandering in his own little world.

The old calico queen began to explain the grisly discovery of the morning, and Admetus' brownish ears flattened. "A huge pollicle," Jellylorum drawled, as Asparagus shook his head in wonder. Their slim son drew away suddenly, as though struck by an unseen fist.

_Pollicle_. The word ricocheted in his head as the image of towering figures with saliva-drenched fangs overcame him. Admetus blinked twice, and the image was gone.

"Admetus!" Asparagus and Jellylorum both said in alarm. "Dear, what is it?" His mother asked, rushing to her son.

The tomcat's brow creased for a moment. "Nothing," he responded, collecting himself. "Nothing, I think..."

* * *

Atop a sufficiently tall mound of trash, perched on a precariously balanced microwave oven, a small patched tom stretched and yawned leisurely. Pouncival blinked contentedly at his surroundings, illuminated by the deep yellows and reds of the sinking sun. Still bleary from his midday nap, the young tom gradually noticed a figure moving below. He grinned at the familiar white and brown mottled coat pattern.

"Hiya!" the tom called down with drowsy playfulness. "Again," he added.

The greeting interrupted Plato's agitated pacing as he twitched around and snapped two startled eyes on the kitten above. He'd thought he was alone.

"Oh," the troubled tomcat muttered. "You. Hi."

Plato glanced away, uncomfortable with the unexpected presence of another cat. His face was concentrated and strained, his shoulders overtaken by mild but abrupt shudders at intervals. He balled his fists tightly to tuck away his trembling fingers.

Pouncival frowned now that he'd gotten a better look at the other tom, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

"Uhhh," the kitten ventured, "no offense, but you look kind of..." his face scrunched with thought as he searched for the appropriate description. "On crack," he determined.

The other tom had to smile a little at Pouncival's complete lack of delicacy. He shrugged, managing to meet the young tom's inquisitive look.

"Yea, I tried to quit, but you know how it is," he joked, taking advantage of his weak tone to enhance the farce.

Pouncival nodded sympathetically. "Yea... I have no idea how it is," he admitted in direct contrast to his continual nodding, a grin breaking through his fake pity.

"What?" Plato gently feigned outrage, his strength returning to him with this distraction. "You've never been addicted to human narcotics?"

The other tom shook his head shamefully. "What can I say?" He frowned suddenly. "Wait, _crack's_ not a narcotic... is it?"

Plato shrugged. "_I_ don't know – I don't _actually_ _do _crack!" he laughed.

"Oh, riiight," Pouncival teased. "Shoot, that's something Tumble would totally know."

The lower tom glanced away again at the mention of his childhood friend. "Yea, he probably _would_..."

Pouncival stared for a moment and abruptly leapt down from his perch, tumbling and rolling around a bit on the way. The other cat leaned back a little with mild surprise as the adolescent's downward descent landed him a few short feet away from Plato.

"I'm hungry," the energetic tom announced promptly.

His elder laughed at the earnest, very kittenish expression. Plato inwardly marveled at his recovery from his anxious state before. He usually preferred working out those moments without an audience. But the young tom's unanticipated company was effectively distracting.

"I know a good hunting spot," Plato offered.

Pouncival grinned.

* * *

The night passed peacefully, much to the relief of the wary community. There was no moon in the chasm-like sky, the only light cast gently by the sprinkled stars. None of the lost animals from the pound dared venture again into the junkyard that smelled of fear and death. The alert tribe protector detected no sign of danger – for now. Munkustrap was not foolish enough to assume that one calm night meant all was well...

Quaxo found little solace in the rising sun. In the night, he had sat awake after a brief and uneasy sleep, troubling over his vision from the day before. It was far different from his other dreams, wherein he looked out from his own limited eyes, felt his own movement and speech just as though he were awake. In this vision he was not aware of a body or feeling – only perception. He understood everything, image by image, every thought and meaning beneath each pair of eyes and every sound and movement. Unbound from the single perspective, he watched from an omniscient viewpoint, as though he looked down from the top of a maze at the individuals searching blindly for an exit.

Yet, now he was awake, he had no sense of the vision's purpose. The greatest draw in the dream was the struggling kitten, whose image screamed of importance his conscious mind could not place. Some crucial element was missing, some connection had yet to be made, though long and hard the magical cat struggled to find it. All the day before he had tried, making no progress.

_It is incomplete_.

The little cat was surprised by the thought that came so clearly and directly to him. Of course, he realized with surprising certainty, this must be the first of many visions to come, like jigsaw pieces, only to make sense when more information is received.

_One segment alone will not make sense. Await the next scene._

Quaxo readily agreed with the inner voice, inherently trusting it. It was, afterall, just himself.

Finally satisfied, the cat roused himself and stretched, glancing serenely at his surroundings. His eyes fell on a dark form, translucent, staring at him like a disobedient reflection. Quaxo started, but with a blink the image was gone.

_You are not mad_, the voice said helpfully.

Quaxo, his eyes wide and fixed on the place the dark image had sat, was not reassured.

* * *

Jellylorum shrieked. The old queen swiveled around in her den and demanded of her mate the location of her little knitting bag. Asparagus rolled his eyes and pleaded ignorance, requesting that she let the tom defend himself before addressing him in accusatory tones. Jellylorum, usually kind but quick tempered, took offense and exclaimed that she had done nothing of the sort. Her mate snapped that she needn't scream, especially considering he was not the one who'd been empty-headed enough to lose the knitting and confrontational enough to lay blame on others. Jellylorum cried at the top of her lungs that she was not, in fact, screaming.

The couple always fought like this when alone, blaming and debasing, so much so that it was a wonder to some why they stayed together. But, at the end of each fight, they always remained a steadfast couple, shared smiles and kisses filled with love, and pulled through somehow. For they angered each other, yes, but their affection was stronger than their animosity, their bark worse than their bite. All the yelling was only a vent of surface emotions, nothing they felt in the long term. They were sensitive to small quips that quickly built to fights, but tough enough to endure anything for each other.

Outside the den, Admetus cringed slightly at the noise from within, and turned away from his home to wait for the fight to end. The tom wandered from the screams, aware only of the surface animosity, and wondered shamefully if his parents ever loved.

* * *

Plato finally managed to get away from Alonzo and Cassandra, whose flirting had quickly become insufferable. Cassandra in particular had a tendency to focus on only one cat within a group, inadvertently alienating those she was not constantly addressing, so the moment she approached the two toms Plato had begun to route his escape.

Today he felt much more himself – or at least much calmer than the previous day. He still glanced sometimes at his paws and thought he saw blood still, but would reassure himself quickly that there was not, never had been, any soiling of his fur with another's life. It was his own confused, deluded mind that tricked him one morning into believing as much. Ironically, this thought comforted him.

He trailed with purpose through the junkyard, searching the heights of trash expectantly. When he came to his destination he slowed, grinning. In what he perceived to be the kitten's usual place, upon a precariously balanced rocking chair, lounged Pouncival on his back, glancing lazily about him from an upside-down perspective.

"Already predictable," Plato commented cheekily as the young tom turned his gaze to him.

"Only cause you're a stalker," Pouncival accused with one of his wide kittenish grins, turning over onto his stomach to return his world ride-side-up.

Plato chuckled. The first two recent encounters between them had been pure chance, but after the unexpectedly cheerful evening before, Plato felt obliged somehow to the young tom for brightening his mood, even if it was inadvertent. He shrugged casually. "Well, I figured I'd treat you to my awesomeness just one more time," he jibed, "only cause I feel sorry for you."

Pouncival glared incredulously at the other tom. "Um," he began, puffing himself up. "I _think_ you have it backwards, there, pal." He pompously cocked his brows and leaned back majestically. "Awesomeness is my ineffable name!"

A wicked thought suddenly occurred to Plato, its vileness gleaming in his eyes and through an impish grin. "Really?" he asked quietly. Pouncival blinked warily at the devilish expression. Without warning Plato shot out a paw and jolted the edge of the rocking chair, just within his reach, causing the other tom to yelp and adjust his balance comically.

Pouncival sent Plato an exaggerated look of shock and disdain, and hastily lowered into crouch. Plato was genuinely surprised by his choice of rebuttal, and so did not react quickly enough when the young tom launched himself from the chair and at the cat below. The impact when the two hit the ground was cushioned by trash, and Plato recovered quickly enough to playfully shove the triumphantly laughing tom off of him.

"What in the name of crap..." a voice wondered apart from them. The two glanced at each other on the ground then quickly pulled themselves up, smiling sheepishly at the thought of anyone observing their decidedly kittenish antics. Another patched tom approached them on Pouncival's side.

"Oh. Hey loser," the tom greeted casually, rudely resting a paw on Pouncival's head.

The kitten batted away the paw with a look that struggled between irritation and fondness. "Hey," he replied with a resigned smirk.

The patched tom caught sight of Plato and started a little. Pouncival glanced from Plato to the tom, unsure why they seemed to hesitate as though waiting for him to introduce them.

"Brutus," Plato finally said briskly.

Tumblebrutus made a show of being just as taken aback to hear the other tom speak as he was to see him. "Well," he said. "Deigning to interact with the commoners?"

Plato chuckled lightly, eyes somewhat narrow. "Haven't lost your charm, have you," he said crisply. Without waiting for response from Pouncival's blunt sibling, he turned to the younger tom and claimed he had to go. "But I'll see you around," he added to soften the suddenness of his departure.

Pouncival nodded after the tom as he left, turning his confused brown eyes back on his brother. He half smiled suspiciously at the other's jaded expression. "Wow," he commented, shaking his head. "What did you _do_ to him?"

Tumblebrutus' eyes were curiously guarded when they fell from where Plato stood to his brother's imploring gaze. He seemed about to say something but kept hesitating, very uncharacteristically.

"Do me a favor, kit," he finally said. "Don't get too attached to that douche." As Pouncival made to respond, Tumblebrutus interrupted, "And don't ask why."

* * *

Day so quickly became night again that the moon began its rise before the sun had fully set. It was a sliver again, the vertical grin that awoke hell in some souls below. The cursed felines had spent the day in unsuspecting respite – alone, with good friends, with rediscovered friends – but the curse overtook them suddenly again, relieving them of all control. The daylight faded soon enough, so that the greatest light in the sky was soon that wretched white grin.

Demeter waited impatiently for her sister to return home. She glanced outside the little stove she and Bombalurina lived in, frowning as she envisioned what could be keeping the saucy red queen. Demeter did not approve of Tugger reeling her sister in as he did. Everyone knew he would toss her back soon enough, as he had once before. But Bombalurina claimed she knew what she was doing, and relentlessly attempted to reinitiate courtship with the amorous tom.

The gold and black queen heard a scuffling noise near her. Without a thought she stepped out of the small shelter, assuming it was Bombalurina.

"God, Rina, _what _has taken you so—" the queen stopped midsentence as she found herself alone in the dark junkyard. She tilted her small, slim form back a little and searched her surroundings, but there was no one. Demeter was about to turn back to her home, but paused at the sound of heavy breathing somewhere in the night. "Rina?" she tried.

Supposing her sister had been hurt, Demeter tentatively followed the sound, calling Bombalurina's name repeatedly. A shadow lurched at her side. The queen turned, and a huge, blood red monster stood before her, with a bone white front and jagged fangs.

Demeter jerked back and shrieked. The creature shrieked back in its deformed voice. She stumbled into a terrified sprint away from the monstrosity, but with one racing lunge it crushed into the queen and forced her to the ground. She screamed and waved her claws at the twisted feline frantically, tears and dirt tussling once smooth fur, eyes shut tight against the nightmare above her. The creature snatched at the female's shoulder, ripping at the flesh hungrily with its long, serrated teeth. The queen choked and wailed, flinging herself at her captor but unable to throw him off.

When Bombalurina heard the screaming, she picked up her leisurely pace considerably. With every corner she turned she grew more panicked, though out of fear she never broke into an outright run. Then she saw it, the red terror, hunched over her younger sister. The initial instinct to flee was quickly replaced with love for her sister, and with that came unexpected strength. Looking around her quickly, the tall, wide-eyed queen grabbed a pipe from the trash piles and dashed at the struggling pair, swinging the weapon at the beast with all her might. It caught the creature's back with enough momentum to toss the monster off of its victim.

With staggered breath and trembling hands, the red queen pulled her bleeding sister up, who moaned and howled at every movement, and half-carried half-dragged her back to their stove. The creature, though hit, was not long stunned, and was in quick pursuit. But the head start was enough to get both queens inside and swing the door shut.

The monster rammed against the door and shook the entire stove. He banged and clawed and shoved until the door actually began to bend inwards, so much so that it began to open. With no time to be shocked, Bombalurina leapt to the entrance and pushed back against the creature's attack to keep the door from falling in. Yelping at each shove from the other side, the queen held firm as she could against the force, Demeter desperately joining her even in her state.

This seemed to go on for hours to the red queen, who kept frantically thinking that each strain signified her last bit of energy, but somehow she found enough strength to keep the door shut and her sibling safe.

Abruptly, the pressure from the other side ceased, and she was aware of tousled noises outside. An unfamiliar voice giggled strangely as the monster growled. "Wow," the voice said conversationally. "Someone forgot to take his nap."

Bombalurina crept to the small opening the creature had made and peered fearfully out, but was unable to make out more than a shadowed silver figure with red, red eyes, brawling almost childishly with Demeter's attacker. She sat awake all that night, clasping her paws over her unconscious sister's wound to slow the bleeding, and listening to the tumult outside. Even as the sounds of fighting drifted further and further from them, she could not rest.

* * *

The Rumpus Cat waggled a finger at the monster in pursuit of him, observing its hideous face with an amused expression. He led the creature in circles, realizing that though it may be the stronger of the two, he was the faster. It followed him relentlessly, shrieking after him. Voices could be heard from all corners of the junkyard as the two eccentric felines careened through, never stopping long enough for any curious eyes to quite catch them.

* * *

Electra, like many others, rose to the racket of the chase. She wandered out, leaving her undisturbed denmates, and glanced at the others awake and about for answers. But they were all as confused as she. Somewhat apart from the cranky crowd was a familiar black-coated form.

"Quaxo!" she called to the shadowed figure, running over. She was glad to see him, as he was nowhere to be found the day before. "Isn't this cra-" she stopped when the cat turned to face her. Cold blue eyes focused on the queen, and a pale face stared with disinterest. She hesitated.

It wasn't Quaxo.

"Oh," she spluttered slightly, confused. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were... someone else." Electra gawked at the unfamiliar cat, shocked that in such a provincial community, there was someone she didn't know. Remembering her manners, she hastily introduced herself and awaited his response.

The tom paused before answering, and it seemed to Electra there was an arrogance in this hesitation, as though he weren't sure if she warranted his attention. "Mistoffelees," he replied in a low, steady voice. "The original conjuring cat," he added with some unexpected cheek.

"You're a magician?" Electra blurted unceremoniously, stunned again by this stranger. The cat's only response was to incline his head somewhat in a curt nod.

Abruptly Tumblebrutus approached them, tired and puzzled. "So," he addressed the two without a thought, "really _no one_ knows what's going on?"

"Ah, Tumble," Electra said, glancing apologetically at the black cat. "This is Mistoffelees."

Tumblebrutus blinked and stared at the tom. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he realized it was not Quaxo before him. "Oh," he said quietly, staring.

Electra scratched her ear awkwardly. "He's a magician – like Quaxo."

The patched tom's eyes narrowed, never leaving the cool white face. "Really," he said flatly.

Mistoffelees was not affected by Tumblebrutus' rude staring. He glanced suddenly to his right, interest finally gleaming in his eyes. Seconds later a hideous scream burst from that direction, followed by inane laughter echoing across the junkyard.

"If you would excuse me," the magician said in parting, not sparing either cat a second glance as he swiftly set off towards the noises.

Electra looked at Tumblebrutus. "That's so _weird_," she muttered.

Tumble shook his head. "Yea," he said distractedly, brows knotting with thought as he stared into the night.

* * *

The three unusual cats ran, all that night, after each other. One meant to end the conflict, one to heighten it, and the other only to wreck everything and everyone in his path. The magical cat nearly caught up with the others, but never approached. He watched, deliberating behind pensive blue eyes how to manage the two other cursed felines who fought and ran and howled and hissed until the dawn.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

**A/n:** Macavity's a cannibal. Oh yes, Lector of felines. But less articulate. And smart. And British.

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	4. Building a Link

**A/n:** Hmmmm, let's see, when did I last update? ...Last... year? ._. Whoopsies~

I'm afraid not a lot happens in this chapter... kinda crappy, really. In fact, okay, I thought I could hide it, but yes, I did make this from the contents of my toilet. I know. Forgot to flush, realized I hadn't updated, so yea, seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I am ashamed. -.-

I had no idea what to call this chapter... I tend to just pull one outta the blue when I post, and they sound kinda like video game chapters... but I'm sure I'll think of something...

* * *

**4. Building a Link **

* * *

"Come on, Lonz," the slinky queen cooed into her playmate's ear. She twisted the ends of his white mane in her long dark fingers and pulled him closer. The tom in her grasp laughed lightly at her insistence, slowly realizing how ensnared he was.

"No, I... no, Cassie, I'm on patrol, I gotta focus."

The queen cocked her head playfully, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek briefly as she grinned suggestively up at her catch. She was in constant movement against him, bringing him to her with coy shifts of her slim shoulders, ample hips, or delicate neck, all part of a girlish mating dance.

"Yea? Well I got something you should check out. Could be life-threatening if you don't."

Alonzo at last gave up, exhaling all his duties through a smirk.

"Really?" he chuckled, snatching the sensuous queen in his arms.

Cassandra fell still and silent, staring at something over Alonzo's shoulder. Her expression turned from irritation to surprise, from wonder to fright. She gasped.

Alonzo turned and Bombalurina staggered towards them, her fur caked with dry blood, eyes strained and expression near hysterical. She fell into the stunned feline, clasping at his shoulders frantically, breathing huskily.

"Help. Help me," she rasped...

Munkustrap stepped stiffly into the dark to look on his failure. She was golden and black, slim and small against the blankets others had supplied her. The fur by the ripped skin along her shoulder had been cleaned, and she looked like a broken toy sprawled lifelessly at his feet. He took another step and she awoke with a violent flinch, backing frantically away from his form. Pause. Breathe. He knelt, and forced himself to stare into the terrified emerald eyes.

"Who," his gruff whisper asked. He could not be kind. He would not be gentle. He would not, could not, make another mistake. "Who did this?"

The queen – he remembered now, she was called Demeter – shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against tears. Her chin quivered. She tried to speak, failed, began to mumble something.

"Monster," she whispered. And she spoke no more.

Munkustrap wrenched himself from the wounded queen's side and escaped into the light again. He could almost breathe again, as well. With hardest face he'd ever worn, he returned to his duties, determined to discover how, despite having patrolled the outskirts of the junkyard the entire night, someone, some_thing_, had crossed their borders and harmed the clan he had vowed to protect.

He would not rest, not one moment, until Demeter's monster was dead.

* * *

_Blue hands reached for a little head, lifted a syringe. The lights never flickered. They glared down at the animals on the clean white table, only obscured by a huge figure bending over the subject with the needle in hand, so small in the human fingers, so huge in a kitten's head..._

Quaxo rolled over on his back, yawning widely. His eyes fluttered open lazily. Ghostly blue eyes stared unblinkingly into his.

The tuxedo cat yelped and stumbled backwards off the old car hood. He stared in amazement. The apparition of a dark cat much like himself did not disappear this time. _Quite awake?_ it questioned dryly. Quaxo opened and closed his mouth.

"I really don't think so," he replied.

The apparition scoffed lightly. _You accept that magic exists and that you possess powers, yet my presence shocks you?_

That was a point. Quaxo scratched his ear guiltily. "Well... I guess I just wasn't expecting... you..." he tried.

_It is, admittedly, an unprecedented occurrence, _the figure offered, a kind of amusement in its ethereal voice.

"That would be it," Quaxo concurred. "So um... who are you again?"

_My name is Mistoffelees_, the other cat introduced. _I am here for a reason, Quaxo. _Mistoffelees rose and gracefully climbed down from the car to Quaxo's level. _Unfortunately I don't quite know what it is, yet. I don't need to share this with you- I know you have no better idea than I- but we do face a common predicament that ought to be addressed._

"Uh, okay," Quaxo mumbled, watching Mistoffelees in awe. "Shoot."

_Must you say everything aloud?_ The apparition asked with minor irritation.

Quaxo blinked. How else was he meant to speak?

_Like that_, Mistoffelees answered smugly.

At first, the tuxedo cat stared, but then it dawned on him. 'Are you reading my mind?' he thought as loudly as possible.

_Clearly- and no need to shout_.

"Oh-" 'I mean, oh.'

Mistoffelees sighed, patience apparently short. _Put simply, we are two souls competing for the use of a single body. Yours. You have seen my visions, you know something is coming—or here already. I believe I am meant to stop it. I can't without your compliance._

'Okay, so you... I... what?'

The apparition actually closed its eyes. _Let me show you_, it said quietly.

* * *

Admetus was almost too sore to move when he woke. Astounded, he tried to rouse himself and hissed. He was exhausted, as though he'd had no rest at all, though it was daylight. With difficulty, he finally rose to his feet, and barely managed a few steps before a figure nearly collided with him.

"Did you hear? Oh my god, did you _hear_?"

The tom winced at the sudden, shrill voice, blinking at the calico before him. Etcetera did not pause long enough for him to respond, even if his head wasn't spinning.

"Demeter!" the excitable queen blurted, flinging out her arms. "She almost _died_! She was hurt! And Bombalurina! I bet it was a _huge_ pollicle or something – you know what this means?"

Admetus was too stunned to respond when the young queen reached out to the tom as though they were old friends.

"We have to find the Rumpus Cat! He can help us, I know it! He knows how to deal with pollicles, I've seen it! Come on, we have to tell Munkustrap!"

Etcetera took his arm and began to drag him behind her as she darted around to find Munkustrap. Admetus hissed and stumbled at the motion on his unsteady feet, trying to pull away from the possessed-seeming cat. She turned back to him when he lagged, and a look crossed her face as though she only now recognized him as the quiet tom in the back of the crowds. Her breathing slowed to a more natural pace and she gently withdrew her hand, staring at the ground in shame.

"I- sorry," she said quietly, tapping her reddening ear. "I just heard and... I mean, what the hell, we're all in danger now so... I just needed to scream about it. And almost break your arm, apparently," she added, chuckling a bit and wringing her hands. Admetus had never seen her so shaken.

"That's... fine," Admetus found himself saying. In the depths of his mind he could hear himself responding with something clever, a joke and a smile that would relax the awkwardness between them. But the tension in his chest and limbs that he always felt when someone spoke to him only tightened, and no other words would come to his dry lips.

Etcetera lifted her eyes to look at him. She smiled a little, the way they always smiled. Pitying of his obvious lack, but also privately relieved. She had the high ground in this social interaction. There was no threat from this recluse.

"Okay," she said quietly, in the calm way one speaks to an upset child. "I'll see you around then."

Nothing in her face or her words should have surprised him. It was only a natural reaction that he had witnessed many times. He didn't even mind usually.

But this time the kindness in her eyes made his insides boil. He was filled suddenly with the unfamiliar feeling of fist-clenching, jaw-tightening anger. She thought she was so superior to him. She was looking down on him.

He scowled, face shifting abruptly as though he were someone else entirely.

"Right," he spat, "You'd really acknowledge _my _existence once in your perfect life." His voice was so firm and clear that he himself barely recognized it.

Etcetera gaped at him. But despite her shock, she was not known to speak with long pauses.

"...Well ex_cuse_ me!" she exclaimed defensively. "It's not like _you_ ever talk to _me_ either! You could always try that, or giving _any _sign you _want _to be noticed! And what the hell makes you think my life is so perfect? You don't _know_ me, and it's not _my _fault you don't! So don't you guilt trip _me_, chum!"

With that she whipped around and stomped off. When she turned her back on him, Admetus felt his anger dwindle just as suddenly as it rose, leaking from him uncomfortably like blood from an unnoticed paper cut. His head ached. He rubbed his temples wearily and began to feel the full impact of his behavior.

He heard high shrieks of laughter behind him. Admetus looked back, startled. There was no one there.

* * *

A week passed. Quaxo was not to be found. The moon had no power over the cursed felines. The junkyard was still on edge after Demeter's attack, but night after night there was no further incident. Etcetera wandered occasionally in the dark against her denmates' advice, seeking out a peculiar sound and blood red eyes only to return to her friends disappointed. Admetus, ever a shy and nervous tom, became even more alarmed and jittery than was characteristic of him. Something in his head would not be suppressed, kept whispering bizarre, terrifying notions to him, and plaguing his head with the strangest laughter.

But Plato was often seen enjoying the company of others, laughing and teasing as ever before, as though he could truly wake from the nightmare and live in the day. He still played the part. But with time he drew away from his usual company more and more, saving the widest smiles and most genuine laughter for a rambunctious patched kitten...

"Me-_ow_!" Pouncival drawled, striking a ridiculous pose. Plato raised a brow and scrutinized Pouncival's klutzy imitation of the Rum Tum Tugger.

"Stop. Stop that –right– _now_," he laughed, shaking his head. "You just look like you need a litter box."

The adolescent tom finally abandoned his endeavors and collapsed clumsily beside his lounging friend. "It's just not fair," he whined, settling into a lazy position on his back. "How does he _do _it?"

"Who knows?" Plato replied, turning on his side to face the other tom. "Alonzo and I had this theory going that he wasn't even feline for a while."

"More like a _god_," Pouncival decided, idly resting the back of his paw against his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

Plato frowned, perturbed by the extent of Pouncival's adoration for the Tugger. "Well I wouldn't go _that_ far…"

"Oh, _come on_," Pouncival reached over and playfully shoved the other tom, whose only acknowledgement of the attack was a half-hearted scowl. "You were, like, _worshipping_ him at the ball."

"I was _not_," Plato denied. "You're the one calling him a god over there."

"'Cause y_ou _said he wasn't feline."

"So? He could be… an alien," Plato tried.

"Hey yea, he _could_!" Pouncival's eyes widened with excitement. "And there's probably a planet full of his species!"

"That," Plato interjected, "is terrifying." The tomcat shuddered. "A million Tuggers… no, billions! I can't even... I can't, that's too weird."

"No, it'd be amazing!" Pouncival insisted.

"Yea, I think I'm sticking with terrifying, if it's all the same to you." The tom shifted slightly, glancing moodily at the patched kitten. "Why are you so obsessed with him, anyway? I mean – why is _everyone_ so obsessed?"

Pouncival glanced back at him sneakily. "You're jealous."

"What?" Plato said quickly, feeling a sudden tenseness close around his insides.

"I bet he gets laid more than you," the young tom jibed, lying back with a cheeky look.

Plato's anxiety relinquished somewhat at the insult, oddly enough. He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Only 'cause he's a nympho."

Pouncival shrugged. "Isn't everybody?"

The other tom found his insides once again tightening when he found Pouncival's boyish, mischievous grin.

"Well, some people have this thing called dignity and restraint, I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't heard of it."

"Come ooooon," Pouncival laughed. "Tugger's just the only one who ain't afraid to get what he wants."

Plato snorted a bit, covering his inexplicable discomfort well. "You're worse than Etcetera!"

Pouncival smirked impishly. "I'm right," he proclaimed. In a kittenish gesture he moved to pin to the other cat down as in conquest, but Plato held him off without much effort. "Just admit it. _I'm_ right."

The small tom struggled to get dominance in the playful conflict, and Plato held him back with greater force and a patronizing smirk. With some work Pouncival squeezed past Plato's defenses and tried again to pin him. Invigorated by the slight success of his opponent, the older tom feigned shock and launched his own wrestling attempts, spurring a match between the two. Neither held back, both laughing and yelling and struggling with simple, kittenish delight. In this most genuine game, Plato felt his strange discomfort dissolve to a warmth that seemed to knead at him gently from the inside, an unrecognizable sensation that grew with every moment spent with the other tom, so strong he could almost forget the nightmares.

* * *

Quaxo breathed in, slowly. He breathed out. His mind was clear.

_Ready_? Mistoffelees' ghostly voice asked.

The tom nodded.

_Close your eyes_...

There was a glow around him, and Quaxo clumsily tumbled away from his body like a peel cut from an apple. Mistoffelees stood serenely in his place, solid and tangible, while Quaxo looked down on his translucent paws.

_I did it! _He exclaimed, amazed he hadn't fallen back into the depths of his subconscious this time. The concentration required to not get sucked back was maddening!

'I can see that,' Mistoffelees observed calmly, though his smirk could almost be said to hold pride. 'Now can you stay on your feet when we switch back this time?'

Without further warning, there was another flash and Quaxo was once again in his body, unable to find his balance before he tumbling forward on his face. Again.

Mistoffelees cackled at the dismayed tom. Quaxo scowled.

"Shut up, you," he muttered aloud, rubbing his poor head.

This would still take some getting used to...

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

**A/n: **This totally is turning into Yugioh... lol, Quaxo's Yugi. :P I'm sleeeeeeeepy -.- when I wake, I want

**REVIEWS**

piled sky high, dipped in cream. With a cherry. And chocolate sauce. Yum, who knew reviews could be so tasty... ok I need to sleep right _now_...


	5. Refuge in a Tempest

**A/n:** I'm baaaaa-aack! Miss me? ^^ This chapter feels a little short, but I finally pumped it out. Things have been crazy! I think I lost at least 10 pounds since my last update coz I never stopped having crap to do! _ I will try to get another update out by this winter. Honestly there's only about three or four more chapters to go...

I WARN THEE MORTALS! This chapter attempts a little ROMANCE! X_X If you have needs to puke in the face of it, I would understand thee well.

* * *

**5. Refuge in a Tempest**

* * *

Tumblebrutus huffed angrily, battling his unkempt fur with mottled paws. He was at perpetual war with the unruly fluff, upholding a temporary peace treaty with it only in the presence of his peers. All operations taken against it were covert, only when others were distracted or absent. But attacks were particularly frequent and fierce when his mood was sour.

"Where the flying fish..." he mumbled testily, actually choosing lighter words than he might have if he'd had an audience. But he was alone, as he had been often for the past few days, for as usual Quaxo was nowhere to be found.

He'd checked the usual places. He'd asked Electra, Munkustrap, even Tugger for his whereabouts (they were all half-brothers, after all), but no one knew the little magical cat better than Tumblebrutus, and they couldn't think of anything he hadn't already tried. He regretted asking Munkustrap – after Demeter's attack, the tom seemed so much older, meeting Tumblebrutus not with his usual proud, welcoming grin, but with a tight grimace and an almost paranoid, protective glint in his eyes. He went rigid at the news of his small half-brother's frequent disappearances, and began his own hunt for Quaxo.

Tumblebrutus snickered evilly at the prospect of Munkustrap finding his friend first. _Then_ he'd be sorry for avoiding him! But his snicker faded, and he couldn't help but wonder, what if Munkustrap's concern were justified? Just how involved might the little magician be in the mysterious happenings in the junkyard?

The tom's pondering was quite interrupted when out of nowhere, a peppy voice chanted, "Presto!" and a pale bluish light momentarily blinded him. When the light died, Tumblebrutus stood blinking at none other than Quaxo himself.

"Um," the cat said sheepishly, shifting his gaze awkwardly, "hi."

Tumblebrutus only blinked again. "You can _teleport_?" he observed disbelievingly.

"Kind of. Not very far, I have to see... where I'm going..." the tom trailed off when he saw his friend's expression.

"Since _when_!" he erupted.

"Now...ish?" Quaxo tried.

Tumblebrutus just stared. "You can teleport," he repeated. Quaxo nodded. "I've barely seen you in like five days, and suddenly you're a freaking mutant... when will the weird around here end! Oh, and who the frig is Mistoffelees?"

Quaxo was unprepared for the abrupt question. "What?"

"Oh, don't you know? There's a new magician around who just _happens_ to look so much like you – isn't that just a _crazy_ coincidence? I mean, you couldn't possibly know anything about another magical cat who resembles you so closely, and it definitely can't have anything to do with you never being around anymore, can it?" Tumblebrutus' expression was blunt, arms crossed expectantly.

"I... uh..." Quaxo muttered, groping for words, "It's hard to explain..."

"Try," the tom countered.

Quaxo bit his lip. "Well... he's kind of _me_... but not."

After a moment of silence, Tumblebrutus replied. "Try better."

Sighing, Quaxo tried again. "I really don't know how to put it, it's... he's like this person inside me, and he can take over my body and do magic way beyond my level – he's been teaching me, but I'm nowhere close to him – and he thinks he's here because something big's about to happen but we don't know what, and... um..."

Tumblebrutus was beginning to look concerned. "Quaxo," he said quietly, "just tell me. How high are you right now? And can you get me some of that catnip, it sounds _amazing_!"

Quaxo rolled his eyes. "It might be easiest... if you met him." He looked distant for a moment, then with another flash of light he was gone, and standing in his place was the elusive Mistoffelees. Tumblebrutus gawked.

"Where's Quaxo?" he blurted.

The slender black and white cat gracefully lifted a long finger to his smooth black head and tapped it once. "Here," he said.

Tumblebrutus was unsettled and confused. "What? What did you do to him? Am _I _high – did Alonzo drug me again?"

Mistoffelees smiled softly, the knowing smile that watches the flailing infant's mistakes. "This is his body. I have modified it some, but I am only borrowing. We are two minds in one body, he the host, I the guest. Do you understand now?"

The young tom's brow crinkled greatly as he took this in. "...A second personality?" he finally replied.

Pale, pale eyes gleamed. "A second soul."

Tumblebrutus quickly became intrigued, wheels in his brain beginning to click and clank at their usual, higher-than-average pace again. "Is it like a dissociative disorder for magical cats? People with multiple personalities can exhibit completely different skills with each personality. One could be tone deaf, the other a professional vocalist – there's even been cases of allergies being different for each, isn't that _mental_?" Mistofelees' attempt to respond was passed over in the other tom's enthusiasm. "And the new personalities can be _crazily_ complex. Do you have your own set of memories of like a whole other life from his? The delusion can be _so_ elaborate..."

Mistoffelees was solemn. "You think I'm a disease?"

Tumblebrutus halted. "Uh... well I didn't mean... when you put it like that it sounds kind of rude, doesn't it?" He scratched his neck sheepishly. "Nah, when I think about it, Quaxo doesn't at all fit the profile. It's typically brought on by extreme trauma and happens at early childhood, doesn't really make sense. So... seriously though, how did this happen, and who exactly _are _you?"

Mistoffelees tilted his dark head slightly in thought, white face composed as ever. "I must concede, it is very like a parasite to possess a body that is not mine... but I am left with little choice." He turned the ghostly eyes to the sky, examining the clouds with the same squint the elders wore when recalling distant past-times. "I don't know why I'm here. I remember nothing before Quaxo... yet I feel I am a whole and separate individual." The magician smirked a little. "In fact, we couldn't be more dissimilar."

The cat paused with a slight frown, and after a few moments returned his stare to the mottled tom. "He wishes to return," he said, before light flashed once again, and Quaxo's deep, friendly eyes looked on the other tom.

"So, what do you think?" Quaxo asked with all the eagerness of introducing a new friend to the old. "He's kind of quiet, but really interesting when you get to know him. He just takes some getting used to."

"It's so weird," Tumblebrutus said, shaking his head. "I thought he was a long lost relative or something, definitely did not call this... And it's funny, you guys do look alike, but really you're _nothing_ alike. You're so... _you_... and he's so... _serious_!"

Quaxo looked a little cross. "I'm so _me_? What's _that_ supposed to mean? And anyway he's just shy I bet and it just kind of comes off as being all serious," he observed. Suddenly he became excited, and forgot to be cross in exactly the childlike way Tumblebrutus might have listed in his differences from Mistoffelees, had he been more elaborate in his assessment. "But you remember the monster that attacked Demeter? He says he saw it! He thinks it might be his fate to face it!"

Tumblebrutus was a bit caught off-guard, but then he considered it. "I guess the timing concurs... they both started showing up at about the same time..."

Quaxo nodded enthusiastically. "Nothing's happened recently though... right?"

"No, it's been quiet," the tom agreed. "Only the peace will be broken once Electra gets a hold of your ears and boxes them good. She is _boiling_ over your recent antisocial streak, you know."

The little magician turned a little red with shame and fear at the prospect of meeting with the young queen's wrath. "She is?"

"Are you kidding? She's crazy about you, show some mercy," the tom said casually. He looked up and saw the tuxedo cat's blush rise and his face contort uncomfortably. "I'm teasing," he quickly added, with a private smirk. Quaxo seemed to relax some, but also appeared a bit crumpled. Perhaps he'd hit too close to home...

* * *

It rained.

The drops fell gently and slowly against the overturned dryer, sliding down the machine's faded-white walls like a series of clear, pulsing veins. It was bigger than most abodes in the junkyard, with a plastic window on the door, shut tight against the weather. Admetus sat behind it, closed in, looking out at the gray, wet world with an empty face and starving eyes.

A sharp laugh in his ear made him start, exciting his complexion from loss to terror. But when he looked round him, there was nothing to be seen but the most harmless image of his grandfather's dozing form, wrapped in old blankets like an infant. He calmed some, and sat by the old, sleeping cat with a still disquieted expression. Listening to him snore, the steady, simple noise he'd known all his life, helped soothe the vexation from his brow.

Every day, every hour – nearly every moment of his life, it now seemed – Admetus heard and saw what was not there. The voice, that horrible, shrieking laugh, and a pair of terrible eyes, thick and red like two pools of blood. They were always there, never actually gone it seemed but hiding, waiting to seize upon him in a rare moment of respite. And he was often not himself, often reacted with spite, anger, and even amusement. The emotions he had always let soften and die now hissed and simmered, without warning or any hope of control.

Admetus closed his eyes. The past few days had been nightmarish, and a visit to the old theater cat was little comfort to him. But the activity was necessary, if difficult. It was not that he wasn't fond of his grandfather, for he very much cared for the old cat, as a grandson ought. He had once enjoyed the stories he used to tell, the soliloquy's he used to recite. He was very young, then, a little quiet but playful and attracted to the adventures his grandfather invented for him. Then the cat began to ache too much to visit often, he grew tired and less patient for a playful kitten. It seemed to happen overnight – he grew old.

It had struck Admetus very suddenly, that the wonderful tom who came to play and tell stories, who took him out when his parents argued, who led his sensitive mind far from the screaming and the anger to explore the fantastic world of lore and fantasy, was only an old cat. He was not immortal and all-powerful as the beloved role model of one youth, but a cat, winding down, slower and slower, till death.

He had grown worse and worse, and by the time Asparagus Sr. lost his sight, Admetus did not need to be told that his condition was grave. The tom had wanted to offer love in these long, waning days, but could not look in his grandfather's unseeing eyes without finding death in them.

The rain fell harder to a marching beat, and to the wheezing tune of his grandfather's snores, he began to drift into anxious dreaming.

* * *

Plato had decided that Pouncival was trying to skewer his ribcage with his bony elbow.

"_Oww_," he protested emphatically, glaring at the young tom as he tended to his abused ribs.

"You're hogging all the space, ya overgrown pollicle!" he complained, huddled in his corner of the tiny box they had claimed as refuge from the elements.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just figured your significant _lack_ of growth would compensate."

The little tom scowled with genuine insult and elbowed his companion again. Plato growled, unamused.

"That," he hissed, seizing the other tom's wrist, "hurt."

Pouncival struggled against Plato's grip, feisty nature surfacing as always in the face of bigger and stronger adversaries.

"Then _move_."

"I _can't_." Plato relinquished the young tom's wrist, and he reclaimed it with a frustrated groan. "There is _no space_."

"Why'd you pick this shelter it's _retarded_." Pouncival grumbled, letting his discomfort get to him.

Plato rolled his eyes, calming a little now that the kittenish tom had resorted to verbal complaints over physical assaults.

"Be my guest if you want to go back out and find another one."

Everything in sight was completely drenched. The sky was gray with occasional flashes of white, and the clouds rumbled. Pouncival sighed.

"...I'm so _bored_!" he whined. He shifted a little, and sighed again, a gentler sigh, before turning to his friend. "Look I'm sorry I got pissy. I just hate this, you know? Stupid rain means nowhere to go and there's no room to even think here!"

Plato half-smiled wryly.

"_Your _thoughts could probably fit in a pill box, Pouncival."

The little tom snapped his eyes angrily to Plato, but thought a little before retorting, allowing himself to calm down and even laugh despite himself. He settled for a gentle nudge and a glib, "Shut up, you."

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the storm outside, calm because for them the storm was over. Plato's brow furrowed as something occurred to him.

"That's the kind of thing they usually say about _me_," he commented, somewhat absently. "And I was kidding about you, you..." he looked at the tom beside him, who was watching him curiously behind the patches and streaks of gentle browns across his face, and Plato failed to finish what he had meant to say. "I don't think that. Not of you. But _me_... a lot of people think that." The whitish tom breathed, remained composed, brushing back damp head fur that had fallen near his eyes. Was he really saying this?

"And I don't know," he started again with the dry, tired look he had always tried to hide, "if I let them believe it, or if it's what _I_ want to believe... if everything were simple... am I tricking them or me?" He lost himself in his thoughts for a few moments, staring at the rain as though it might hold answers to his questions. The tom returned to the present and half-laughed, half-groaned at himself. "Don't listen to me, I'm a moron," he excused himself with wry embarrassment.

Pouncival was quiet. Plato dared a glance at his friend, meaning to send an apologetic grin his way. But he met honey brown eyes and forgot exactly what he had intended. He finally broke away from them to recollect himself. Pouncival's breathy voice broke through the strange silence.

"When we were kittens," he said. "I thought you and Tumble were _geniuses_."

Plato laughed, almost at a whisper.

"You were like, two," he pointed out.

"You were like a god. Both of you," Pouncival added promptly. "I thought the two of you knew everything. And as long as you guys were around, nothing could go wrong. Okay yea, I _was_ like two, but I'm just saying," Plato was laughing again. Pouncival was smiling sheepishly. "You don't really know what people think of you."

Plato's laughter stilled. He considered this. "So what do you think of me, now you're all grown up," he asked cheekily, turning to the other tom.

Pouncival grinned. Plato could practically feel his breath. Perhaps Pouncival was right, this box was _damn_ small... not enough room to think...

"I think you're a moron."

Pouncival laughed softly, barely audible anymore. Their voices had fallen to no more than whispers, as though in fear of waking someone. Plato chuckled with no more force than a sigh. He couldn't tell whether they were getting closer or if Pouncival was breathing harder. Plato fought surprise when the other tom touched his arm and began to slide fingers and a palm up and down the white and brown fur. It was warm. He could see every detail of the youth's face, every imperfection that only made him more real. They were close enough to-

To...!

Plato pulled away, blinking as though he'd stepped out of a nightmare. "You're right," he said coarsely. "I'm a huge fucking moron."

Pouncival's honey eyes turned from surprise, to concern, to terror in the span of a winking eye. He drew back as far as he could, flushing with uncharacteristic self-consciousness. "Yea, okay," he sputtered. "Right. Yea... um, yea." The tom seemed to have lost his usual lightheartedness and was desperately pretending he had not. "God, this rain," he commented as glibly as possible, "Will it ever stop?"

The silence was now awkward.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

**A/n**: Awwkwaaard :S Not much action here I s'pose, but next chapt. should have crescent moon I think. Only happens twice a month remember! And I hope the slash has become evident by this point... kinda obvious for a while now. :P But Plato's such a dweeb. -_-

REVIEW! Convince me I didn't throw my life away to horrible fanfiction! :P


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